Claus-trophobic Confessions

More about Claus-trophobic Confessions

Santa: Ugh! This chimney is tighter than my belt after Thanksgiving dinner. Who designed this thing? An elf?
Homeowner: Nah, I think you designed it—cookie by cookie.
Santa: Oh, real funny. Like I don’t have enough pressure delivering to 2 billion kids, now I’ve got chimney critics.
Homeowner: Hey, don’t blame me! You’re the one carbo-loading on every rooftop. You ever hear of portion control, big guy?
Santa: Oh, sure. Let me just tell little Timmy in Boise, ‘Sorry, no presents this year—Santa’s on keto!’ That’ll go over great.
Homeowner: You’re gonna have to tell him something when you get stuck here all night. I’ve got a plunger and some Crisco, but I can’t make any promises.
Santa: This is rock bottom. Literally. I’m stuck on your fireplace rocks, questioning my life choices. Next year, I’m sending Amazon drones.
Homeowner: You sure about that? You’ve got the charm, Santa. Jeff Bezos doesn’t have a magic sleigh—or that dad bod appeal.
Santa: Dad bod?! This isn’t a bod—it’s a lifetime achievement award. Now, are you helping me out, or am I spending Christmas Eve as a chimney ornament?
Homeowner: Hold tight, big guy. Let me grab a rope and a protein shake for motivation.
Santa: Grab a salad while you’re at it... apparently, I need it....